Syuusuke
by stophoggingtheblanket
Summary: Tezuka is kind, responsible, intelligent... everything he's not, everything he could never hope to be. FujixOCxTezuka


_I wrote this sometime last year, but never got around to posting it. It was supposed to be an apology gift for not updating The Iceman Cometh, but as my beta pointed out, even my apology gifts are late. XD But yes, this IS an apology gift, because I won't be updating Iceman until mid-December due to majorly important and ridiculously long exams. _

_This was inspired by a spate of watching Korean dramas. I really salute the scriptwriters' ability to drag things out and complicate matters until you can't make head or tail of things. If you watch them, you'll know what I mean. It's amazing how the wrong person is ALWAYS in the wrong place at the wrong time (not to mention completely frustrating D:). Hence the idea of this story. _

_...and my deepest apologies for the uninspired title. Microsoft Word saved it as that since it was the first word in the story, so it got stuck as Syuusuke. XD_

_Read on!_

* * *

"Syuusuke." _Fuji_, she thinks, almost bitterly.

He smiles, and kisses her hand. His lips are cold, too cold. "Will you allow me the pleasure of a dance?"

She accepts – _of course –_ and they whirl fluidly among the couples twirling on the floor with a grace far outstripping the rest.

And the charade continues, unbeknownst to all but them.

* * *

She doesn't know how it came to this, how the love of her life turned into a virtual stranger, and it pains her more than she cares to admit.

But life must go on, she thinks, and steps a little harder on the accelerator.

It is too late by the time she sees the truck coming straight at her – she knows only a moment of unreasoning panic, and then no more.

* * *

The first thing her mind registers is the utterly bedazzling, overwhelming whiteness of her surroundings – white floors, white walls, white sheets – and she stops with a slight gasp as she sees an achingly familiar form draped across a chair in fitful slumber.

_Fuji... _why would he be here?

Her heart contracts painfully, knowing that it is nothing more than a charade, nothing more than the pretend game they play. _He didn't have to go so far_, she thinks rebelliously, resenting him all the more because no matter how hard she tries to be indifferent, the carefully shaped words and gestures stab her deeper each time – and there is nothing, nothing at all she can do to stop it.

He stirs, and her thoughts freeze in their tracks.

Cerulean orbs snap open when he realises that she is awake, and he is by her side in an instant.

"How do you feel?"

But she is in too much shock to answer. It has been so long... so long since she has seen those azure jewels flashing with something other than anger and annoyance.

"I-I'm alright. What happened?" Amidst her swirling thoughts, she manages to get out a few words.

His tone was flat. "You had an accident. Don't you remember?"

"Oh." She cringes at his displeasure.

He shuts his eyes and turns away, and the silence that descends is almost unbearable.

Finally, Fuji speaks, his words fraught with emotion.

"I was worried."

Her eyes open wide, and it is a moment before she finds her voice.

"You were?" The slight tremble at the end is hardly noticeable, but Fuji hears it all the same, and his heart shatters into a million pieces.

How did they come to this?

* * *

He can still remember vividly how his heart stopped when he heard the news. His first reaction was one of utter disbelief, shock – _it's not true, is it? You're joking, right?_ – then fear – pure, unadulterated fear that gripped him as if it would never let go –

* * *

His voice, when he speaks, is unusually gentle. "I _am_."

She lets out a choked sob, and it is all he can do not to run to her and gather her up in his arms – to tell her it's okay, they'd be okay – to bridge the rift that should never have been between them in the first place. Instead, he takes slow, measured steps towards her, as if afraid to startle her.

But before he can reach her, the door opens and a nurse bustles in.

"Fuji-san, visiting hours are over. I'm sure she's tired out by now. Please come again tomorrow."

He feels like throwing the nearest sharp, pointy object available straight at the nurse, but controls his homicidal urges and bends down instead to retrieve his jacket from the floor.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then." He offers her a smile, and her heart skips a beat.

It's times like this that she hates herself for being so weak.

"Tomorrow," she agrees, and watches as his lithe figure disappears through the door.

* * *

When he comes back the next day, she is sitting beside the window, gazing at a small photo in her hand.

_She looks more like an angel than ever_, he thinks wistfully, and raises his hand to knock on the half-open door. Politeness has always been an integral part of his life, after all.

But the words which fall from her lips make his hand freeze in the very act of reaching for the door.

"Why did you stop loving me? We had so much, we were so happy..."

Her voice breaks, and he feels his heart breaking as well, but for a very different reason.

"Please, come back. I miss you so much..."

He backs out of the room as silently as he came, and the single red rose is unceremoniously dumped into the nearest bin he can find – a single splash of scarlet amidst the trash. Eyes blazing with hurt and anger, he strides out of the hospital, never once looking back.

And the last whisper passes unheard in the deafening silence.

"Syuusuke...."

* * *

He remembers clearly the day they'd decided to be serious about their relationship. That day, they'd promised – _no secrets_ – and all their past problems, loves were laid bare for the other to see and understand. It was to have been a token of their love, their honesty and commitment to each other.

His lips curl into a self-mocking smile, as he remembers how animated she had seemed when she had talked about her ex.

"He was really kind and sweet – he'd always try to make me happy, no matter what condition he was in," He recalls it with perfect clarity, and he remembers, too – that even then, he had felt a pang of jealousy, and changed the subject.

That man had remained nameless, and faceless ever since.

Now that he thinks about it – maybe he's not that surprised that she's longing for _him_. And perhaps – this thought stabs his heart, shredding it into little ribbons – perhaps her heart has never belonged to him in the first place.

It leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth for the next few weeks.

* * *

She waits, wondering when he will come – but never doubting that he will. Fuji would never break his word, no matter what. And as she sits there, watching the seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours – she realises that maybe she doesn't know him half as well as she thinks, and she resigns herself to that fact as the clock shows 12.00 midnight – the next day.

Yet she can't help but hope – maybe he had an emergency, something which needed to be taken care of immediately – and he hadn't missed his appointment with her on purpose.

She knows she's only deluding herself.

* * *

He comes three days later, the day she is to be discharged. Relief swells up in her, and she turns to him with a smile – only to find herself confronted with an icy blue glare.

The flood of relief quickly turns to bewilderment, hurt – but she refuses to cry, refuses to show him just how _stupid_ she had been to think that things would be any different than they were, and greets him with little more than a nod.

"So you're going home today." It is a statement, rather than a question.

"Yes." She agrees neutrally.

He bites back the retort at the tip of his tongue – _but do you want to?_ – and settles instead for a cool nod.

"I'll see you then." His tone brooks no argument.

She glances up involuntarily at the sharp _click_ as he turns on his heel, and forces herself to look away from his retreating back. Only when the door closes behind him does she allow herself to give way to her tears.

_And so we dance this deadly dance, tearing each other apart._

* * *

After work, he heads straight to the nearest bar, where he downs bottle after bottle after bottle. He stops only when everything is a blur, when he's too drunk to even lift the bottle to his lips any more.

The bartender glances at the limp form slumped over the counter, shaking his head. He's never seen someone so young in such bad shape before, and he wonders briefly what has driven the pretty brunette to the streets, that he needs so much to numb his grief.

* * *

Fuji wakes up the next day in an unfamiliar bed with a killer headache. He groans, rubbing his eyes to clear them – and stops short when his hand encounters something warm.

Something living, breathing and warm.

His eyes shoot open, and the half-uttered curse is out of his mouth before he realises it's just Tezuka.

Albeit a distinctly unimpressed Tezuka.

His head is still pounding, his mouth still dry from shock – _how did he even end up here, in Tezuka's apartment, of all places?!_ - but he closes his eyes, and smiles up at Tezuka. "Hello, Tezuka."

Tezuka's frown gets deeper, if that is even possible.

Fuji continues merrily. "You're going to be late for work if you stay any longer, Tezuka."

"Fuji."

He doesn't seem to hear the interruption. "Saa, the weather's so sunny today. If only I could skip work today and go – "

"_Fuji._"

The hint of steel in the other's voice brings Fuji to an abrupt stop. He turns away instead, honey-brown strands obscuring his face, and begins arranging the sheets.

Tezuka watches him with an almost-compassionate look on his face.

"Fuji, you shouldn't be – "

Long slender fingers clench the blanket convulsively, and Tezuka is given only a moment's notice before Fuji lashes out.

"Stop it, Tezuka! Just stop it! You don't _know_ how this feels, how I – " He breaks off, and when he spins to face Tezuka, tears are stinging the corners of his eyes.

It is the closest Tezuka has ever seen the tensai come to breaking.

"I do." The quiet contradiction takes Fuji completely by surprise, and shocked azure orbs meet impenetrable russet ones. A lengthy silence descends, and it is exactly two minutes later before Fuji's natural curiosity recovers enough to press him to ask the next question.

"How...?"

"It didn't work out."

It isn't like Tezuka to delve into personal issues, let alone past loves, and Fuji is intrigued despite himself.

"She didn't love you?"

He knows it's impolite to inquire, but he can't help it – it's hard to imagine anyone turning down Tezuka, after all.

"She... loved someone else."

Tezuka's voice is low, very low, and Fuji wonders briefly what Tezuka _really_ thinks of that _someone else_. But something stops him from asking, and all he says is, "Oh."

'_Oh' is right_, thinks Tezuka, and he pushes the slight tang of bitterness firmly to the back of his head. It's over, and he's vowed never to harken back to that time again. Instead, he stands up, and offers Fuji his hand.

"Let's go."

Fuji accepts, and they exit the room side by side.

* * *

He nods at her as he walks in, answering her unspoken question. "I spent the night at a friend's."

She refuses to allow herself to dwell on the possibilities of that sentence, on just _who_ that friend might be – and tilts her head slightly to acknowledge his words.

Talking is awkward, and silence even more so.

The phone rings, shattering the bleak silence in the spacious room. In three graceful strides, she reaches the phone and picks it up. When her voice answers, it is melodic and serene.

"Hello?"

She listens quietly, but Fuji can't help noticing the way her eyes light up, and how her tone is slightly more unsteady when she replies.

"I'll be there."

His grip on the unfortunate chair tightens, his knuckles rapidly turning white - but his face is smiling, as composed as ever.

She puts down the phone, and heads for the door. "I'm going out for awhile. I might not be back for dinner, so don't wait up."

It's cursory, and they both know it – he wouldn't have waited anyway.

"Ah." His smile stays firmly in place, and he grips the chair hard enough to make a dent in it.

"Ja, itte kimasu."

He does not reply.

* * *

It is five minutes before he gets up, and walks slowly to the door. He realises that to trail her would be futile – he has no idea where she has gone – but he needs fresh air to clear his muddled thoughts.

He starts the ignition, and twenty minutes later, he finds himself outside a small, relatively unknown park where few people would care to frequent.

It suits him perfectly.

* * *

He's always liked the wind, he reflects absently as the breeze ruffles his honey-brown strands in apparent fondness. It never betrays any secrets, and it's been a companion of his since his childhood days in Chiba – carefree days spent wandering the beach, talking to the sea breeze and laughing at his own silliness.

These days, it's all he can do to keep afloat.

Muffled voices disrupt his reminiscing, and he frowns slightly at the tree opposite him. He can barely make out two figures, little more than silhouettes against the setting rays of the sun.

" – listen to me – " A man's voice, deep and strangely familiar.

" – just for one day – I can't take it – " He starts at the girl's voice – he'd know that voice anywhere.

_Rei...?_

His eyes narrow, and he slips unnoticed among the trees, until he's six feet away from them and safely hidden behind a huge tree.

"If you ever loved me then – "

Cerulean eyes widen.

" – please – "

"No." The deep timbre of the voice strikes a sudden chord in him, and he peers cautiously around the trunk to see something he could never, ever possibly have dreamed of even in his worst nightmares.

Tezuka – and Rei.

He stumbles away in shock, half-blinded by tears.

_Tezuka... Tezuka is her ex?_

He lets out a low, bitter laugh. But of course. It makes perfect sense, in a horribly twisted way.

Tezuka is kind, responsible, intelligent...

_He's everything I'm not..._

...everything he could never hope to be.

* * *

Tezuka starts. He knows that laugh – that harsh, grinding laugh that surfaced when Yuuta first told his brother that he hated him, when Yuuta first moved from Seigaku to St. Rudolph – he _knows_ it, and spins around just in time to see a slender, lithe figure stumbling away into the distance.

"_Fuji?!_"

Rei looks up, startled by the sudden name. Her face pales as the realisation of what has just happened sinks in – and she turns to Tezuka, wondering what to do.

But Tezuka doesn't waste time – he runs, not gracefully, the way an athlete should run - but it is a race born out of desperation, and the air burning in his lungs drives him on until he manages to grasp Fuji's wrist.

"Fuji," Tezuka's voice is firm, urgent. "This isn't what you think it is."

Fuji laughs, the harsh sound making the taller brunette flinch.

"What ever is, Tezuka? What ever is?"

He wrenches his hand out of Tezuka's grip, and walks away unsteadily – because he can't bear to see them together, can't bear to see how _perfect_ she looks standing next to _him_ –

* * *

It's been an hour, two hours – he's lost track of time – since his world crumbled down around him – and he realises he has no one to blame but himself.

He's never been good enough for her, never been able to make her happy – not the way _Tezuka_ – he flinches at the mere thought of the name - made her happy, and he wonders if the pain he's feeling now is what those trashy love songs on the radio trumpet about daily.

The pain is almost unbearable, but he refuses to think about it, dwelling instead on how his steering wheel fits just right in his hands – _the way she did_, he thinks – and before he knows it, he's on the way back to Chiba.

He turns the wheel savagely, tires screeching in protest – it wouldn't do to let Saeki see him like this – and heads back in the direction of Tokyo. The scenery passes by in a blur, and it's a miracle he doesn't crash into anything. He reaches home safely, however, and he isn't surprised to see the empty space where her shoes should have been – but that doesn't mean his heart doesn't break a little more.

He steps inside the house, knowing what he must do. Checking his cellphone – there are twenty-seven missed calls – twenty from Rei, seven from Tezuka – ten messages which he doesn't bother to read _–_ and he throws the phone into the bin. Twenty minutes later, he walks out of the house with a suitcase and his laptop.

He doesn't look back.

* * *

She returns home the next morning – spending the night in a cheap motel because she doesn't know what to say to Fuji, what to tell him – and as she walks in, her mind still turns up blank when it comes to Fuji.

The house is eerily silent. She tiptoes to his door, hesitating a brief moment before knocking. But she can't live in limbo any more, _can't live like this_ – and her knocks resound loud and clear in the sharp stillness of the room.

There is no answer, and she fights down the rising panic, pushing the door open instead.

"Fuji?"

A single glance at the room – sheets neatly folded, wardrobe clean and empty – and she knows, even as she runs through the house, frantically calling his name – that he's gone.

_Gone._

Left. Because of her.

She breaks down uncontrollably, unable to stop the torrent of tears that threaten to overwhelm her. Everything they had shared, all their memories together – even the empty shelf where his beloved cactus used to reside mocks her mercilessly – and she weeps as if she will never stop.

* * *

Tezuka finds her the next morning, curled up in Fuji's favourite armchair, staring at the tensai's phone. Her eyes are red from crying, and his heart clenches at the sight. He has never felt so helpless, so hopeless – but he catches hold of himself.

_It's your fault_, an insidious voice whispers.

_They'd never have become like this if it wasn't for you_.

He struggles to ignore it, but the voice grows stronger, more convincing.

_You were the one who came between them, drove a wedge in their relationship. _

_That's not true._

_It isn't?_ The tone is cutting, baring his heart open for all to see. _Fuji's left – and it's all because of you._

His lips set into a firm, straight line.

_Very well._

He _will_ put back the fragmented pieces of glass together, make it whole and new again – _no matter how the shards might cut him_ – and the crystal goblet, stained with his blood, will be perfect once more.

* * *

It's been three months, and Fuji has carved himself a niche in a distant, foreign land. He smiles up at the blue skies of Paris – he's found a decent job, and a place to call home. Of course, he omits the fact that _home_ contains him, and him alone – and focuses instead on the bright side of life.

Paris is beautiful, with none of the restrictive, repressed quality of Tokyo, choosing instead to express itself in colours more abundant than the rainbow. He doesn't think of Tokyo very often, only during rainy days when he allows himself to relive the thrill of playing a certain junior more than ten years ago in the pouring, black rain. He prefers not to dwell on the rest of the team, except maybe Eiji, whom he's always kept in contact with – but even so, his calls are becoming more infrequent after the last time he called Eiji and Tezuka picked up the phone.

Tezuka.

It's a name he would rather forget, but human memory is one of the most perverse things in life – guarding the worst memories with a jealous possessiveness that irks him to no end. In the end, he simply chooses not to think about Tokyo at all – and all the extra baggage it signifies.

Today's a sunny day – perfect weather for a Sunday, and he whistles a short, meaningless tune as he strolls through the leafy avenues of Paris. The streets are chock-full of couples – he ignores them all, turning aside into a lovely green park filled with blooming flowers and large trees.

"Fuji?"

He turns around, recognising one of his acquaintances – he has very few _friends_, many acquaintances – and is soon involved in inane chatter about his latest project.

Then a hand lands on his shoulder, and he freezes.

He's felt that same pressure many times before – after a particularly grueling match against Rikkaidai, after a practice in which he hadn't caused a single jot of trouble – mostly to throw people off balance, more than any desire to be good – and he closes his eyes.

The person he is talking to bids him a cheery goodbye, and he echoes "Ciao," so faintly that it's a wonder it even left his lips at all.

The hand hasn't budged from its place.

Slowly, very slowly, he turns around to see his ex-buchou and one-time friend.

Tezuka still looks the same, slightly older, and with more wrinkles on his forehead then before. The golden-russet orbs are as piercing as he remembers them, perhaps even more so, and his eyes curve up automatically together with his mouth to offer Tezuka a wide smile.

_Fake,_ is all Tezuka thinks.

"Well, this is unexpected." Fuji laughs lightly, but his mouth is dry, and the burning sensation at the back of his throat slightly alarming. "What brings you to Paris, Tezuka-san?"

Tezuka flinches slightly at the use of the suffix, but he looks straight at Fuji as he answers.

"You."

It's Fuji's turn to look discomfited, but he rearranges his face into its usual smile in a split second. "As straightforward as ever, I see. You really haven't changed much, ne?"

Tezuka frowns. "Fuji – "

Fuji feels like his mouth is going to break from so much smiling, but he keeps it firmly in place. "It's been nice meeting you like this, Tezuka-san, but I really have to get back to work. If you'll excuse me – "

"No!" Tezuka's exclamation makes a few people turn their heads and stare at the odd couple bickering under the trees. He lowers his voice. "Fuji, please – just listen to me – "

Blue orbs snap open, pinning Tezuka down with the hurricane of emotion behind them. "What do you want to say, Tezuka? I'm sorry? It was a mistake? _It never happened?_"

"Fuji – " Tezuka tries again.

"Forget it, Tezuka." The honey-haired tensai whirls away, shaking free of Tezuka's grasp. "Save your breath for someone who will actually _believe_ you."

Tezuka has never remembered being so angry before – so angry that he drags a very surprised Fuji all the way across to his rented room, so angry that he slams the door until the whole building shakes, _so angry that he flings the nearest object he can get his hands on to the floor – _

Fuji looks on in horror, shock and possibly – fear. "...Tezuka?"

"Listen to me, Fuji." He growls, and Fuji backs away just a little. "Rei loves you – loves you more than she loves anything, _anyone_ in this world – and you are just sitting here, living your _pretty_ little life while she _suffers_ every day, as she has for the past three months!"

Azure orbs blaze with sudden fury, and Fuji lunges back, spitting out the next words with something close to hate. "Well, I didn't see her _suffering_ when she went to your _little_ clandestine meeting that day!"

He doesn't think that Tezuka can get any angrier, but he does.

"You want to know just _why_ she went to that '_secret clandestine meeting'_?" Tezuka cuts off his words like so many little pieces of meat. "She went there because she couldn't stand the fact that _you_ were hurting her, _ignoring_ her, _killing_ her with every single word you threw at her!"

"_Excuse me?_" If Tezuka can get angry, he doesn't see why he can't too – and he unleashes all the hurt and anger pent up over the past few months. "If I recall correctly, _she_ was the one who was pining away for her _ex-lover _who just _happened_ to be my best friend!"

They're facing one another, growling like two lions ready to fight to the death – and all Fuji can think is, _he used to be my best friend._ But he pushes the regret away, and focuses instead on the terrible feeling of betrayal, of hurt, _of broken trust_ -

"You've done enough to ruin my life already, Tezuka." The stinging words that fall from his lips make Tezuka flinch, but he doesn't stop. "Go away. Just – _go_."

Fuji doesn't think he can stand much more of this. And he tells Tezuka the only way he knows how.

"_Please._"

There is a long silence, and Fuji suddenly finds it hard to breathe. His eyes seek out the wooden door, and before he knows it, his feet are moving, bringing him closer to the door -

"Fuji."

His hand is on the doorknob, and he curses himself for freezing at that single word.

Tezuka's voice, when he speaks again, is weary. "Fuji, she loves _you_, not me."

And quietly, barely above a whisper, "Always has."

_- no matter how I wish it would be the other way, _he adds silently, as Fuji turns to stare at him in disbelief. He holds the piercing azure gaze for as long as it takes Fuji to believe him, hoping against hope that the tensai will not read the telltale emotions in his own eyes.

It is a foolish hope, he knows, and Fuji stares at him for a long moment before suddenly pulling him into a warm embrace.

"I'm sorry, Tezuka... for everything... _so sorry_..."

Fuji's always had the uncanny ability to read the unspoken lines behind the words, and it is all Tezuka can do not to break down in front of his best friend.

* * *

It is a radiant bride who walks down the aisle carpeted with cherry blossoms, offering herself to the man she loves. The groom smiles, watching his beloved come to him with starry eyes and rosy cheeks – and his smile grows, azure orbs blinding in their joyful brilliance as he gently takes her arm from her father.

" – to have and to hold, to love and to cherish – "

They exchange their vows under the blooming sakura trees, and as they turn to face the cheering crowd, newly proclaimed man and wife – there is only one face which Fuji seeks out – and finds, standing aloof in the midst of all the well-wishers.

Sapphire meets russet – the corners of his mouth quirk up into an almost-smile, his eyes crinkling slightly – and for Fuji, that is the best wedding present he can ever receive.

The smile he returns to Tezuka is simple, genuine – and it says, _thank you._

* * *

Review? XD


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